


Las Letras de David

by palateens



Series: It Really Ain't That Bad [4]
Category: South Park
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Homophobia, M/M, Mexican Character, Minor Character Death, Polyamory, there's Creekenny if you squint
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-06
Updated: 2016-11-06
Packaged: 2018-08-29 08:10:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 13,155
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8481982
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/palateens/pseuds/palateens
Summary: South Park was a predominantly white small town in the mountains. Denver, the nearest place to finding anything close to what he had in Boise, was a solid two hour drive from him. There were no mercados here, nor anyone who sold authentic Mexican food other than his parents. This is the story of how David became the token Mexican kid of South Park.





	1. A Para Abuela

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm transferring my David drabbles from Tumblr to here. This series is a WIP but it's filled with compassion, love, and a lot of Spanglish.

Growing up, David knew that every Sunday meant two things: misa y abuela. Without hesitation, his mother would remind him at 4pm every Sunday to call Abuela and tell her about his week. Most of the time, she wanted to hear the good news. The things she could brag to her amigas about.

“Pues, mi nieto David hizo this and that” she could brag during commercial breaks while watching her favorite telenovelas.

After she got a full status report, Abuela would ask about misa.

“Entonces, what did el padre say durante la homilía?”

“It was the deacon this time, abuela.” He’d correct when necessary.

“ _¿_ Bien bien, pero que te aprendiste?”

And so he’d have to go over the highlights of the homily for that mass. Stoping along the way to answer abuelas questions about what did he think that meant and how does it relate to his own life and the current events for that week. And if he didn’t know the events from the past week, she’d reprimand him like no other.

“Knowledge is power, mijo,” she’d remind him.

He loved these talks, because no matter what the subject was, Abuela made it interesting and relevant. Her lessons weren’t always about Dios and loving your neighbors.

When he got to middle school, and came out to everyone, David was most scared of how Abuela was going to react. She was visiting them for Pascua that year. He finally decided to man up, and tell her in person.

“Abuela?” he spoke up while helping her soak corn husks for the tamales they’d be eating the next day. The kitchen already enveloped the entire casa in the sweet aroma of pork and pan dulce.

“ _¿_ Mande?”

“Soy un homosexual.” He winced in spite of himself.

“Oh mijo, no te preocupas,” she waves him off without a beat.

“Really?” David croaks

“Mira, mi hermano Arturo es homosexual y el no se va al infierno. Dios tiene bastante amor para todos sus niños.” She explains confidently, then turning to give him knowing smirk. “And you do a pretty bad job of hiding sus revistas en su cuarto.”

David’s face flushes a bright crimson. He can’t look his Abuela in the eye for a week, but he knows she’s always got his back.

David’s mama is the oldest of Abuela’s five children. So he knows on a cultural level that someday, she might decide to move in with them. For most of his childhood, she stayed in the home she had raised her children in. Cuando his Abuelo murió, she went to live with tía Carmen for a few months. Abuela then called David’s parents one day saying she wanted to see her oldest nieto go through high school. “And grow into a fine young man,” she added.

It was nice, until David turned fifteen and Abuela started baggering him about getting a boyfriend.

“Y donde está tu novio?” she’d ask at least once a week. “Debería ser religioso.”

So David doesn’t tell her right away when he starts dating Kyle, who’s Jewish. And then when they end up dating Stan two months later, David feels uncomfortable lying to Abuela any longer. Entonces, he asks them to come meet her one day after school. Abuela’s in the living room, working on book keeping for the restaurant, and watching Juana la Virgen as she likes to call it (although David keeps trying to explain to her that Juana la Virgen was Venezuelano and only aired in 2002 and calling the current show, Jane the Virgin, wouldn’t be all that bad).

“Abuela, I’m home,” David announces as Kyle and Stan meekly follow in behind him.

“Hola, nieto,” she doesn’t bother to look away from her laptop.

“Abuela,” he clears his throat. “I brought some guests.”

Abuela looks up, notices not one, but two teenage boys awkwardly gravitating behind her grandson.

“ _¿_ Y quien son ellos?” she adjusts her bifocals to get a better look at them.

“Stan y Kyle,” he gestures respectively towards them. “Son mis novios.”

Abuela is quiet, persuing her lips like she’s spent all morning tasting a sour limón. “ _¿_ Porque necesitas dos novios?”

“I don’t need two boyfriends,” he struggles to make it sound like he’s not talking back. “It’s just…we work, Abuela. We fit together como una rompecabeza.”

“ _¿_ Estás enamorado?” She looks between Kyle and Stan, sizing them up.

“Yes,” he rasps nervously. Kyle put a reassuring hand on his shoulder while Stan, takes his left hand a squeezes it.

Abuela laughs at their protectiveness over David. “It’s just like you to overachieve. I ask you to get a novio y tienes dos.” Her sonrisa breaks the tension of the room.

David and his boyfriends sigh in relief.

“Voy a prepara comida para ustedes,” she pauses her show and saunters off. “ _¿_ Oye, el pelirojo es judío?”

“Sí, pero Abuela, don’t be so blunt,” David apologizes quietly to Kyle.

Kyle plays it off as fine, he thinks. She didn’t really say anything offensive.

“Y el otro?” She calls out. “Qué se llama? Stan? Es un apodo no?”

“Sí, para Stanley,” David tells them quietly that they should probably sit down. This might take a while.

“Entoces, Stanley, me entiendas?”

“Un poquito, Señora,” Stan speaks up.

“ _¿_ Tienes una religión?” 

“Si, soy católico,” his accent is atrocious, but he tries none the less.

Abuela bustles back out of the kitchen. “Mira, la comida no está lista todoavía. Vente a la cocina. Ustedes van a dime todo de tus vidas. And from now on, you will call me Abuela. No quiero oír Señora. Señora es para su suegra.”

“I think she likes you,” David tells them as they get up.

Kyle and Stan shrug at each other, a win’s a win. So from then on, they never have to worry about when they can go over to David’s house. Abuela is always ready to make food, tell them they’re too skinny, and ask how their days are going. And David  has to keep himself from chuckling too loud whenever he hears Abuela on the phone with her best friend Angela saying, “pues, mis nietos…” 


	2. B Para Besos

Boise had a decent Hispanic population. Although his school could’ve been a more diverse, but he had family and friends to go home to to keep his culture alive for him. 

 South Park was a predominantly white small town in the mountains. Denver, the nearest place to finding anything close to what he had in Boise, was a solid two hour drive from him. There were no mercados here, nor anyone who sold authentic Mexican food other than his parents. This is how David became the token Mexican kid of South Park. Being the only one was difficult to say the least. He always felt like he had to be on his best behavior, lest assholes like Cartman say he’s “just being a fiery Latino”. 

 His prima Elena had warned him about this before he moved. 

 "Gringos son extraños, primo,“ she whispered to him inside a janitor’s closet during prima Gabriella’s quince. 

 "I know what gringos are like,” he stares at her as if she’s lost her marbles.

 "No, you know what gringos who understand our culture are like,“ Elena insists. "You have no idea how weird they really are. They pretend they’re above praying; they think Cinco de Mayo is a big deal; and they hate besos.”

 "¿Qué?“ David furrows his brows in confusion. "They hate besos?”

 "They think besos are only for men and women who are married.“

 "So how do they greet their amigitos or their familia?" 

 "Sometimes with a brief hug, most of the time by just saying hello." Elena’s always been a fan of gossip and conspiracy theories, so David does his best to ignore her.

 However, he learns very quickly that Elena was too right. Once, when he’s eleven and Kyle comes over to play video games one Saturday, he slips up. Kyle acts stupefied when David kisses his cheeks. The pelirojo’s cheek match his hair, his auburn eyes avert David’s gaze. David catches on quickly what he did wrong.

 "Lo siento, amigo,” he backs up a foot to give Kyle espacio. “It’s…a Latino thing.” He scratches his neck, forcing his eyes away from watching Kyle like a hawk. 

 "No, no, it’s ok,“ Kyle assured him, his hands gesturing to reinforce how fine it is. "I get it.”

 David perks up a little. “Yeah?" 

 "Claro,” the younger smirks. He’s been working on his Spanish since the day he met David. 

 He closes the distance between them, embracing David. David responds with a hug of his own.

 "You can always be yourself with me, dude,“ Kyle reiterates when he releases David.

 David doesn’t make it a habit to besa Kyle. He also doesn’t apologize when it intermittently happens over the next few years. The first time he kisses for real Kyle he’s fifteen. 

 But his first kiss is with Stan. 

 They’re thirteen, fucking around in Craig Tucker’s basement. Clyde’s bored and suggests spin the bottle. Cartman argues that it sounds gay as fuck.

 "Your point? You heterosexual male, you,” Kenny snarks.

 Cartman grumbles that it’s still gay for the first three rounds of the game.

 When it’s David’s turn to spin, he almost lets out a chuckle at the irony. Now they want to kiss other chavitos. He doesn’t lie to himself, he has the biggest crush on Kyle. He hopes it lands on Kyle. That would be a great first kiss. 

 He grabs the empty bottle of coca-cola he brought from his parents’ restaurant, spinning it with a sharp flick of his wrist. It spins completely a few times on the Tucker’s worn down carpet. The carpet itself smells like spilled refresco and Mrs. Tucker’s version of flan. Crema volteada, she had called it. 

As the bottle halts, David’s heart stops. It’s Stan. Fucking Stanley Marsh. Arguably the only thing between David and Kyle was his attachment to his best friend. Stan had broken up with Wendy five months before. But he and Kyle were dancing around each other, same as usual. 

 He snaps out of his musings, eyes locked on Stan’s directly across from him. He’s as apprehensive as David. David wonders briefly if Stan’s ever been jealous of the friendship he and Kyle share. 

 As mamá would say, Dios has a strange sense of humor. 

 "C'mon, assholes,“ Eric grunts. "Just get it over with.”

 "This is a stupid game, anyway,“ Kyle huffs defensively. "You guys don’t have to do this if you don’t want to.”

 "No,“ he hears himself and Stan say simultaneously. They look at each other again, chuckling at their shared stupidity. Anything for Kyle, David surmises.

 He gets on his knees, crawling a little towards the middle of their circle. Stan follows suit, they’re both leaning over the bottle. Stan takes the initiative, closing the gap between them. 

 It’s a strange beso. It’s warm, but course from the dead skin on Stan’s lips. Stan was a little off when he went in, so David has to readjust so the older boy isn’t making out with the corner of his mouth. Then…it’s….kind of wonderful. Stan gently tugs his bottom lip, playfully asking for entrance. Their tongues briefly battle against each other, but not with the malice that he assumed would fuel all their interactions. This beso is special, intimate and vulnerable.

 When they break apart, David can vaguely hear Clyde and Kenny wolf whistling. Tweek’s muttering something about being too hot for their own good, and he turns just in time to see Craig elbowing his blond boyfriend. David moves back to his seat, eyes meeting Stan’s briefly. The other teen’s staring back at him. Sus ojos are boring into David with confusion and pena. ¿Pena para qué?

He watches the game continue, silently. The bottle doesn’t land on him again, but it lands on Kyle for Stan. David watches, listlessly. He tries to find some rage or indignation at them kissing, it doesn’t come. He wonders for days about the pena in Stan’s eyes. He makes it a point to finally get to know Stan. Little by little, David learns what Kyle sees in him. 

 David’s fifteen, kissing Kyle, when he figures it out. 

 It’s a good kiss, great even. It’s everything he expected it to be. Late night with Kyle, un beso para los siglos. The scent of his favorite cologne mixed with the taste of salt & vinegar chips on his tongue is intoxicating. However, something’s missing. He pushes the nagging in his mind to the side, though. Wanting desperately to enjoy this moment.

 "Wow,” Kyle wheezes. He smiles hesitantly at David.

 "Quiero que serás mi novio,“ the brunet admits quietly. 

 "I’d like that,” Kyle whispers back.

 "¿Sí?“ David doesn’t remember the last time he felt this excited.

 "Claro,” Kyle smirks like it should’ve been so obvious.

 He feels like a little kid again, in love and carefree.

 The nagging doesn’t go away, though. Con cada beso, David feels a void that they’re trying to fill. He doesn’t want to admit what’s right in front of him. 

 That is, until one time they’re kissing at Bebe’s party and Stan catches them. They snuck away to a quiet corner of the Stevens’ basement. Less light, more opportunities to be obnoxiously affectionate. They’re making out, Kyle’s got David pressed against a wall in the back corner of the room cuando algo stops him cold. Mamá always said David was clarividente. He knew when he was in the wrong place at the wrong time. When that feeling washes over him, he peels his right eye open. Stan’s watching them ten feet away. He looks so fucking lost and dammit if that doesn’t romper David’s carazón.

 He breaks from Kyle’s kiss, the taller whimpers from lack of contact. 

 "I want to be with you,“ David insists. 

 "Ok,” Kyle sobers up tremendously. “Why are you saying it like that?”

 "Because I keep trying to convince myself we’re not missing something. But carajo, we are cariño. And that’s Stan.“ He pleads silently for Kyle to understand, to not be angry or hurt. David looks back to Stan, who hasn’t moved. 

 Kyle turns around finding Stan right behind him. David can’t see Kyle’s face; but he can see his shoulders slump and the way Stan’s face falls with it. They’ve always been good at communicating with a glance. Kyle waves him closer. 

 He tip toes hesitantly over to them. His face torn between anxious and elated. David can’t tell if his corazón is beating on tempo or faster than the house music blaring through the room. Either way, it’s beating out of his chest. Stan’s ripping his signature poof ball hat off, it’s adorkable and so fucking reverent. He looks at Kyle like he’s bracing himself for a lecture. He looks at David as if he might save him. It’s a strange twist of fate.

 Kyle wraps an arm around his shoulder, pulling Stan into him. Luego, el pelirojo da un beso a Stan, right on the temple. David can barely make out how Stan gasps in reaction. Kyle says something directly into Stan’s ear. Stan turns his head up to meet Kyle’s expectant stare. His nod is determined. Kyle laughs, kissing him square on the mouth. David doesn’t wonder why he isn’t jealous, he knows. Está bien chingada ahora. 

 Stan leans closer to David, their foreheads touching. "¿Puedo decirle algo?”

 "Por supuesto,“ David murmurs loud enough for him to hear. 

 "Creo que estoy enamorado contigo,” Stan croaks. “…with both of you, actually,” he revises hurriedly. 

 "How many times did you have to practice that?“ David rolls his eyes jokingly.

 "Every day for a month,” Stan admits bashfully. 

David’s stunned, without much thought, he closes the distance between their lips.

 Esto es el Stan de sus sueños. Of flashbacks to glass botellas and rough skin that tastes vaguely of flan. This is the beso he was missing. 

 "Creo que te amo también,“ David confides. Stan beams like no other.

And when David turns back to Kyle, reaching for his mouth again; es el beso más mejor del mundo. 

 Because David knows the three of them are different. Sometimes as much as night and day. But it occurs to him that maybe this is why it stopped mattering if Stan beat him out to Kyle. They need each other to blend the night into day, to be el anochecer y el amanecer para los otros. To be complete. 

 David envisions a future of amor y besos. He can’t wait.


	3. C Para Comida

Comida is a cornerstone of David’s upbringing. Comida is what brings his tíos together before cada holiday: Navidad, Pascua, Día de los Muertos. Obviamente, being around family is also a good reason. But what never fails cuando tío Oscar y tía Angela estan pelando for el mil vez? Comida.

Helping mamá antes de cenar, platicado sober his día was a tradition he gladly partook in. Thankfully, mamá would made a variety of comida throughout the week to keep David’s palate cultured and not sick of Mexican food.

Y cuando sus padres decidieron arbrir una restaurante, he proudly became their first bus boy. David was eager to help out in his parents’ dream. Comida, specifically enjoying left overs of papá’s pozole, is what kept him from getting suspended for fighting in middle school. Although, Eric Cartman still got a few smacks to the face one time, chilaquiles be damned.

During summers in middle school, mamá would take him with her to farmers’ markets on Wednesdays. When business was slower in the restaurant as well as the markets. Sometimes, they’d go as east as Denver to find new produce or vendors for specialty dishes. She’d make a fun day of the journey, stopping for lunch at some kitschy place on Broadway or at the nearest mercado for a week’s supply of gansitos and bubu lubu.

Because of these trips, David learned that he loved Mediterranean food, everything from souvlaki to shawarma. Perhaps it was because of how much their comida reminded him of Mexican cuisine; an assortment of rice, expertly cut and cooked meat, and complimenting spices and sauces. Of course they tasted different than the comida his parents made, but the memories of sharing afternoons with his mamá were ingrained in each bite.

Comida was how he gets Kyle, on the edge of a breakdown, to take a moment for himself and relax. Comida is how he and Kyle get Stan out of bed some days. The smell of fresh tortillas being made and cooked would waft up to his room. Little by little, they could coax Stan up with love and acceptance. And if it was too bad of a day, and Stan begged to be left in bed, they still had comida ready to offer so he didn’t starve himself.

Comida is more than just meals shared, it’s a communal experience. Comida is popcorn that Kyle accidentally throws on top of David’s head, turning into a massive food fight. It’s the way Kyle’s lips usually taste like a fusion of spearmint and vanilla. Or how David can usually tell when was the last time Stan ate, and what exactly did he eat. David’s favorite is when Stan’s just had fruta.

Comida, a pizza with pepperoni spelling out words, is how David’s boyfriends asked him to each dance in high school. They’d made it a point to always ask each other for every dance, you know to keep the magic alive.

Junior prom was the best though. In a particularly corny move, they’d used M&M’s to spell out “Prom?”

Chicken noodle soup is what both Mrs.Broflovski and Mrs. Marsh send with their sons whenever they hear David is sick. Paletas de mango con chile is what his primo Santiago used to bribe him with to not tattle as a toddler. Tacos al pastor, y un poquitito de cerveza is the last meal he shared with his Abuelo Osiel before he died in a car accident.

David still tears up a bit at eating tacos al pastor. That happened once during lunch sophomore year. It was Abuelo’s birthday, or it would have been. He didn’t eat them as much as he used to, trying to preserve the memory of that day. He closes his eyes upon the first bite, savoring the fresh pineapple and pork. It takes him back.

In the distance he can hear Juan Gabriel, cantando como un angel. The front door to his abuelos’ casa is wide open, the screen door is closed to keep out las moscas.

Abuelo always regaled him with stories of Mexico; of life en la ciudad de México, the capital. Panaderías that made pan dulce of every kind cada mañana. Y real churros dipped in melted chocolate, and small squares y iglesias nestled underneath the bustle and pestilence of the city. Of fiestas y familia. Of the love that comes with sacrifice.

“It was a lonely road here, mijo,” Abuelo explained somberly. “Antes de tu abuela, yo era un cabrón solitario. No necesitaba nadie porque yo tenía un responsabilidad a mi familia en México. Pero su abuela era mi amiga mejor antes de nuestro cortejo. Eso es la manera para enamorarse. Escúchame bien, nieto, el amor no es facíl. Pero es el sentimento más poderoso en el mundo. Si vas a caer, debría ser con la persona más importante en su vida.”

David wasn’t sure if Abuelo meant that he should fall in love with the most important person in his life or if he meant that who you love should always be there to catch you. Regardless, he kept those words to heart. Eating al pastor tacos, however, brought up the pena as well as the loving nostalgia he had for his Abuelo.

He doesn’t notice that tears welling up in his eyes, until he feels Kyle’s long fingers massaging his lower back while Stan peppers kisses into his neck.

“Dude, are you ok?” Stan whispers too low for anyone else to hear.

David nods, accepting a tissue from Kyle’s pocket.

“Es el cumpleaños de mi abuelo,” he explains to both of them. “He would’ve been 68 today.”

Stan wraps his arms tightly around David’s waist. Kyle takes his head and cradles it into his chest. David cries in earnest, not having done so since the day Abuelo was buried. David lets out the pena quietly, but without reservation.

He thinks this must have been what Abuelo meant as they munched on their last comida together.

If you’re going to fall, you should do it with the most important people by your side.


	4. D Para David

“Your name is David, dah-veed,” mamá explains before his first day of kindergarten. “Su nombre no es Day-vid o Dave o Davy. Es dah-veed. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.”

“Sí mamá,” he murmurs nervously. He plays with the strap of his new mochila as he wonders what she means. Or rather, why does it matter how they say his name?

Nonetheless, he repeats it to everyone. He corrects every teacher, every substitute, every new friend and playmate. It’s dah-veed, he insists. And really, the repetition doesn’t bother him. 

He remembers his prima Elena giving him a similar speech when he’s eight.

“If you give anyone the opportunity to doubt you, they will erase your existence,” she warns him.

“You mean they’ll kill me?” He’s on the verge of tears. He hates when Elena lectures him.

“No, tonto,” she smacks him lightly upside the head. “Your name is part of who you are, your culture y su familia. If you let gringos call you something they want for their convenience you’re telling them that they’re more important than you.”

“Are they?” He asks seriously, licking the paleta that Elena swiped from their tío’s mercado.

“Of course not,” Elena insists frantically. “But if you don’t make them realize that, no one will give you a second glance. You have to force people to respect you. Es absurdo, pero es la realidad.”

There are some exceptions to Elena’s truth. His first day at South Park Elementary, a gringo in a lime green ushanka comes bustling up him. This kid starts rambling on about how the guidance counselor sent him to greet the new student, and how he’s so excited that he’s here and new/interesting/well probably-

“Jesus, sorry, dude I’m rambling aren’t I?”

“It’s fine,” David laughs a little. This hombre is alright. Better than that gordito who showed up to his parents restaurant the day before. He was worried that they’d all be cochinos in esté estado.

“I’m Kyle, by the way, Kyle Broflovski,” the kid, Kyle, beams. “It’s nice to meet to you…”

“Dah-veed,” David finishes for him, with a little extra emphasis. “David Rodriguez.”

Kyle offers him his hand to shake, “it’s nice to meet you Dah-veed. Fuck, tell me if I ever say your name wrong, alright? I hate it when people don’t respect my heritage and I can only imagine the shit you have to take.”

David nods, a little too enthusiastically. They’re not all the same. Kyle at least is different.

It’s particularly frustrating when Eric Cartman refuses to pronounce his name correctly. David begins to understand the significance of his name.

One day when he’s eleven, David’s hit by the sudden urge to call his prima. He wants to slap himself not talking to Elena in months, and hopes that she’s available to talk right now. He’s about to hang up on the sixth ring when she answers.

“Hola primo,” her voice is hoarse.

“Hi,” he mutters. “Wanna talk?”

He hears a sob from her end. “You have no idea how much I need familia right now.”

David lets her cry for a while, he plays the Selena cd she gave him for Navidad in the background. It’s loud enough to soothe her. Eventually, she starts ranting about how she caught her novio cheating on her and how poorly it ended for her when she confronted him.

“He called me a fucking wetback whore,” Elena howled in earnest. “Then he told me to go back to my own country, pinche hijo de una chingada madre.”

David had never seen so much red in his vision before. Podría matar eso puto cabrón, he seethes to himself.

“You know,” she rambles a bit hysterically. “I used to think the worst thing in the world was for people to fuck up my name. E-len-a, how hard is that? But no, I’m ee-Lena or E-leena or even Ee-lana. Nobody would dare fuck up Santiago. His name’s masculine and exotic.”

“Prima,” David tries to interrupt gently.

“No David,” Elena snaps a bit. “You need to hear this. Those assholes who ruin our names might not respect our culture, but at least they’re not horrible enough to use slurs.”

“Maybe that’s worse,” he argues without giving much thought. “Maybe it’s worse that they don’t realize what they’re doing. What if they go their whole lives never being told that everyone should be respected the same amount? What if they pull worse mierda without realizing they’re wrong?”

Elena huffs, “you’re right. The dog is as dangerous dead as he is alive.”

His name, David surmises, has always been a point of cultural tension. It just mattered more to Elena than him up to this point. He figures out what she had meant the further into middle school he got. Status became a commodity, and having dinero was the biggest symbol. Subscribing to white heteronormativity was second. Seventh grade was a shitty year to be neither white nor straight. David hated most of it.

Bullying was “illegal” in Colorado. That meant if his parents had the time and money to sue his school, his bullies could get expelled. En realidad, it meant the bullies used groups to keep watch for maestros and most harassment was limited to verbal assaults.

For some reason, David could take the gay slurs a lot better than the racial ones. Capaz it was because that was a part of himself he was still exploring. Perhaps because the media had conditioned him to be prepared for this sort of bullying. Or quizás it had something to do with the fact that no one could tell him who to love and care for, but that didn’t mean he could protect himself the same way.

It was December of that year when the eighth graders learned their lesson.

Those cabrónes were about to stuff David into a too small locker. He’s pushing them off as best as he can, but it’s six against one. One of them is taunting him in a horrible rendition of a Spanish accent, “c'mon, esse, whatcha gonna do? Can’t you fight back joto?”

“He probably can’t speak English,” another one chimes in. “Isn’t that right, Day-vid?”

David doesn’t know who did what next. Regardless, the next thing he knows, he’s busted one guy’s huevos to high hell, throwing a punch that knocks both of them to the floor. He hears whimpering to his left, Kyle’s punching the tallest of them to high hell while Stan’s tackling another one. Craig, of all people, is throwing a kid halfway across the hall. Kenny jumps out of nowhere, with a pinche knife, shouting “all you fuckers can just move along now.” The eighth graders scatter.

Kyle helps David off his knees.

“I feel like an idiot,” Kyle apologizes. “I should’ve asked more questions when you kept coming to lunch late. I shouldn’t have been so damn complacent. But I thought you were ok? Or you’d talk when you were ready. Jesus, though, that was fucked up.”

“You can say that again,” Craig mutters. “No one insults my friends and gets away with it.”

Kenny proceeds to make adoring kiddy faces at Craig, who proceeds to ignore them and the blush creeping on his face. Stan comes barreling into David, hugging him for dear life. David, shocked and mildly terrified, hugs back on reflex.

“And no one gets away with butchering your name like that,” Stan adds firmly while inspecting David’s face for cuts and bruises.

“En serio?” David stares at the shorter boy in disbelief.

“Claro que sí,” Kyle answers for him. “We’re your friends, David. You matter, your fucking name matters to us. It’s part of who you are.”

“Sorry,” David murmurs half-heartedly. “I didn’t want to be a bother. They were just…pendejos.”

“Pendejos or not, they messed with the wrong guy,” Stan lectures. “You’re one of us, David. And nobody messes with us.

“Yeah, and we’ll keep telling you that until you believe it,” Kyle smiles triumphantly.

So they make it a point to. Butters, Tweek, Craig and Clyde make it a point to be more active in including David in conversations. Token invites him over more to game nights. Fuck, Cartman lays off the Mexican jokes for a solid month (and coincidentally also has to use an inflatable donut for two weeks because of an ‘accident’ that left his tailbone bruised).

Kyle and Stan make it their own point to show David he’s important, and appreciated. Sometimes, just in the way they say his name, correctly and affectionately. As if they’re praying to him for intercession.

David thinks back to these moments a few years later the first time the three of them fool around. Their hands roaming each others’ bodies, exploring and begging for more. ‘David’ Kyle chants, in rapid succession as he begs for release. ‘David’ drips off Stan’s tongue in a languid moan, yearning to be filled. Later, after they’ve helped him reach his own climax, they cover him with kisses. Whispering soft praises about how wonderful he is; how kind, thoughtful, strong, generous, and passionate he is. Every compliment ending in “David” and each more loving than the last.

And really, the repetition doesn’t bother him.


	5. E Para Elena

Elena Josefina Rodriguez was the most beautiful girl David ever knew. Mostly likely this was due to the fact that she was his prima and he had no interest in girls romantically. Her eyes were a wonderful almond color, lighter than his near-black ojos. Her curls were always as bouncy and free as her personality, y su sonrisa era la más hermosa del mundo.

 

Elena was eight years older than him. Along with her twin, Santiago, she was the second youngest of his primos from el lado de su papá. She was the closest thing he had to an hermana. Cuando estuvo creciendo, Elena era su nana. Viernes meant películas, jugando, y elado. When he was a toddler, she would bring coloring books and crayones for him to use. He could always count on a new video game from Elena for every birthday. She’d spend months saving up, and that made every game worth replaying a million times.

Sometimes, as they got older and she got into competitive ballroom dancing, she’d take David to tournaments with her while his padres worked. Elena taught him everything she learned: from science to culture and current events. She never let him do any less than his very best. She wanted to be un médico and was the most responsible teenager he knew. There was a part of David that knew Elena had a good part in raising him. For a long time, whenever people asked what he wanted to be when he grew up, he’d say un médico como mi prima.

Elena was fierce and fearless to anyone who dared to mess with her primo. David was pretty much safe from anything with Elena around.

But then Elena went to college in California, and David moved to Colorado. The last thing she gives him in person is un collar de Cruz.

“Siempre tengas la fe, hermanito,” Elena ties the leather to the back of his neck. “If not in something bigger than yourself, then always believe in your ability to do good for yourself and others. And remember that I will always be there for you.”

He figured they would have less time together than before. The distance between them grew slowly. So slow that David at first didn’t think much of not seeing Elena when his padres took him back to Idaho for Pascua when he was in the fourth grade. He reached out, many times until middle school. He was usually met with excitement and love from Elena. Though she never returned the favor to contact him.

Sometime around eight grade, David recalls eavesdropping on a conversation between his padres.

“No one knows what to do about her,” Papá groans.

“I don’t understand the problem,” Mamá insists. “¿Por qué no se vuelva a casa?”

“Nadie puede entenderlo,” Papá explains. “Y Elena no va a contestar su pinche teléfono menos de una emergencia.”

“Pobrecita,” Mamá tisks. “I can only imagine what she’s going through if she’s scared to go to her familia para ayuda.”

David tries texting her, every day for a year. Sometimes with an anecdote, other times just to send love. On his birthday, he gets an answer.

“Te quiero muchisimo, primo. Nunca se olvides.”

“For what it’s worth,” he texts back quickly, desperately actually. “I’m gay and they love me. I know they still love you too.”

“Gracias,” she texts the next day. “That means the world coming from you, hermanito.”

He continues texting her for another four months. Nothing happens. He resigns himself to always wondering what went wrong.

He’s a junior in high school, walking up the steps to Stan’s house on an October afternoon when his phone shuffles to an old Selena song. He asks Dios briefly if Elena’s alright. He squeezes the collar de Cruz dangling around his neck. David doesn’t remember the last time he took it off. It helps him believe in himself, that’s what she would’ve wanted.

He’s climbing the stairs, a tune is carrying over from Stan’s room. He’s playing Landslide on his guitar. That can only mean it’s a truly bad day.

David opens the door to the first bedroom hesitantly. Stan must know the sound his novio’s footsteps make. He doesn’t stop.

“Can I sail through the changing ocean tides? Can I handle the seasons of my life?” Stan’s voice is a perfect tenor, con una voz de un angel.

Stan loves that guitar, it’s therapeutic for him to both express his feelings and work on a menial task to calm his nerves.

David throws his backpack down, proceeding to slip off his shoes. He approaches Stan who’s sitting on the edge of his bed slowly, worried about startling him while he’s lost in the music. Su novio looks up, sus ojos azules meeting David’s. Stan offers a bashful smile. It isn’t that bad after all.

David climbs onto the bed, positioning himself behind Stan. He swings his legs on either side of the shorter boy. David maneuvers his arms so he’s hugging Stan from behind. Careful not to obstruct the other’s playing, his arms go into the crevice between Stan’s guitar and his lap. David rests his chin on the brunet’s left shoulder; transfixed by his strumming.

“Bad day?” David asks quietly.

“It was going ok until I had an anxiety attack,” Stan doesn’t look up. “I was trying to have lunch and then I couldn’t eat. I felt like puking…and crying. I tried chugging water, it only made things worse.”

“So is this helping,” David squeezes Stan’s torso gently.

“I think so,” Stan laughs shakily. “It gets my breathing back on track, at least.”

David nods soberly, “well I’ve been afraid of changing.”

“Cause I built my life around you. But times you bolder, even children get older,” Stan harmonizes with him.

“And I’m getting older too,” David finishes.

Stan turns to kiss him on the nose. He swears that David has the most beautiful voice ever. David tends to think it’s the other way around.

“Why this song?” David inquires.

Stan shrugs, “they play Fleetwood Mac a lot around here. In all of Colorado, I think. It’s like something I associate with being young and living in the mountains.”

“Ah, yo entiendo,” David closes his eyes, feeling the calmness the song radiates and the vibrations of Stan’s guitar.

“It’s not just that,” Stan adds. “I listened to it a lot when I first got diagnosed. It…centers me, you know? Puts everything in perspective. Do you have a song like that?”

“I Could Fall In Love by Selena,” the older confesses. “It was my prima Elena’s favorite canción.”

Stan nuzzles David’s head tenderly. “Were you close?”

“She was like a sister to me,” he sighs.

“And now?”

“And now I wonder where she is,” David frowns. “I wonder if she’s even alive.”

Stan stops on an awkward note. He puts his guitar to the side, turning around to face his boyfriend. “Fuck, really? That’s messed up.”

David shrugs, it’s something he’s grown accustomed to. Stan hugs him tightly.

“Shelly sucks, but I don’t know what I’d do without her,” Stan strokes his back reassuringly. “We should find her.”

“I don’t know,” David bites his lip, hugging Stan back tighter. “I don’t think she wants to be found.”

“Are you saying that because you’re sure or you’re scared?”

“…el segundo,” he mutters. “Capaz one day she’ll come back.”

He can feel Stan shaking his head. David knows he a stubborn ass about getting in people’s ways. But Stan respects his opinion and drops the subject.

Thanksgiving morning about a month later, he’s helping Mamá and Mrs. Broflovski basting the turkey. Kyle’s making four layer mac n’ cheese while Stan and his mom are making pies to take next door to bake. Ike’s somewhere upstairs playing on his computer and Shelly’s not arriving until 3pm. The olor wafting through the cocina of the Broflovski house is intoxicating. David can hear Papá arguing with Gerald and Randy about football versus fútbol and what’s better (fútbol is clearly winning).

The doorbell rings, he notices Mamá, Stan, and Kyle freeze.

“It’s for you,” Kyle tells him cryptically.

David looks to his madre for permission.

“Ándale pues,” she smiles awkwardly.

David nods dumbly. Walking through the living room, he notices Papá is tense también. Weird day, he thinks to himself.

The doorbell rings again before he can open it, he catches sight of a brown, lithe arm before getting full view of its owner.

A woman in her mid twenties stands with a toddler holding her hand. Her hair is short and her dress is an oversized sweater with a scarf on top.

“Elena,” he gasps.

She looks twenty pounds lighter, and ten years older than the last time David saw her. He’s about a head taller than her now.

“Sus novios called me,” Elena’s mouth forms a thin smile. “They said we should have the entire familia together for Thanksgiving.” Her lips tremble, “I guess I forgot I could always come home to mi hermanito.”

David throws his arms around her, not hiding the way he’s shaking. Elena murmurs a tune she used to sing when he was upset.

“Estoy aquí,” Elena squeezes him harder. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

He doesn’t say she’s forgiven and he doesn’t say it’s alright. Because it isn’t. It’s not that simple. Elena can’t take back years of silence. She wasn’t there when she needed him and she wouldn’t let him be there for her.

But as she picks up the four-year-old boy–telling him “mira, este es su tío David”–he thinks it’ll be alright. Someday.


	6. F for Fear

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Because being bilingual means pensando en más de una idioma.

When you’re young, language comes naturally. Words are simple ideas connected to images. The trouble comes in getting older. Para David, the trouble also came in loosing his sense of community. Su barrio growing up was predominantly Latin@. Era difícl para cruzar el calle sin oír español. But that was Idaho.

 Colorado had a Hispanic population más al sur y en las cuidades grandes como Denver y Boulder. Mientras tanto, South Park tenía David y sus padres. That was it. 

 Years later, his friends, including Craig who was Peruvian, would take an interest in learning Spanish. But for the duration of primaria, that wasn’t the case. Realmente, David often had to resist the urge to feel self-conscious when speaking Spanish (or even Spanglish) around his friends. 

 Bromas pequeñas were common among his friend group when no one understood what palabras como carajo or pendejos meant. A veces, David was tempted to eliminate Spanish from his public vocabulary. He had a fear of being ostracized, but he had a greater fear of loosing himself. Español era la manera mejor para honrar su familia. Not that they were dead. But in a way, that kid who creció surrounded by primos y tíos was gone forever. He had to soldier on by himself.

Cada noche estuvo lleno con conversación completamente en español. Over time, this proved to not be enough. And since his escuela didn’t have foreign language classes, David was effectively screwed. 

 He didn’t notice at first. Some words like otorrinolaringólogo didn’t come up in his daily life. Pero cuando no pudo recordar qué significa mudar, David se aterroriza. He quietly added a translation app to his teléfono después de eso. Unfortunately, it comes in handy too often for his liking. 

 He takes to watching programas en español. It helps, although his confidence doesn’t recover. Y cuando David se pone tanto apenado porque cree que se falta la habilidad para hablar en español, that’s when he stops speaking, completely. 

Sus padres don’t notice, because David keeps his responses at cena to sí or no. Y this continues on for a solid trimester in the sixth grade. Nadie notices at school. With the exception of Kyle. Kyle sees the way David skirts conversations and how he’s stopped volunteering in class. 

Kyle bids his time, waiting for David to snap out of it. If there’s one thing he’s learned about David, it’s that he never does anything irrationally. But a week of radio silence turns into two. And dropped plans start happening more and more. 

 One day, Kyle is about to leave for Token’s when he decides to make a necessary detour. He bikes to David’s house, knocking politely, but forcefully on the front door. David’s mom opens the door a minute later. 

“Hola Kyle,” her smile is warm and reassuring. 

 “Hola Señora Rodriguez,” Kyle’s American accent is a bit atrocious, but he knew David’s parents loved it when he practiced his Spanish. “¿Está en casa?”

 “¿Quién, David?” She corrects gently. 

 Kyle blushes furiously, “sí, David.” 

 La señora ríe fuerte. “Kyle, no te preocupas tanto. Estás aprendiendo. Ándale arriba, ver si puedes sacarlo de su cuarto.” 

 The pelirojo nods determinedly. “Gracias, Señora, voy a tratar.” 

 David, mientras, estuvo acostado en su recámara. Blaring Juanes en sus audífonos. He was considering whether or not it was worth it to go out tonight when his puerta abrí. 

 “Mamá,” he mutters irritably. “I said I’m not hungry.” 

 “It’s me, dude.” 

 David turned his head to face the door. Kyle was poking his head in intrepidly. Kyle, despite being the tallest of their friends, has a knack for making himself look small. David tries not to smile at how he expectantly waits to be invited in. He merely waves the pelirojo inside, sitting up to allow Kyle space on the bed.

 Kyle takes the hint, dropping his backpack on the floor next to David’s escritorio. He takes a seat on his friend’s bed, staring at him curiously. 

 “What?” David asks finally, no longer tolerating Kyle’s gaze boring into him.

 Kyle shrugs, baffled himself. “That’s the most I’ve heard you say in weeks. I’m not really sure how to fix this.” 

 David shrugs, picking at a loose thread on his comforter. “There’s nothing to fix, Kyle.”

 “Bullshit,” Kyle snaps. He grabs David’s shoulders and shakes him firmly. “You’re one of my best friends, dude. What, did you think no one was going to notice that you’re shutting everyone out?” 

 “Your mom’s worried about you, David.” Kyle grimaces, swallowing his nerves a bit. “And so am I.” 

 “Lo siento, Kyle,” David responds softly. He takes Kyle’s manos off of him, squeezing them tenderly. “I…” he averts his gaze from his friend. 

“You what?” Kyle pleads. “What’s wrong?” 

 “It’s ridiculous,” David blushes, letting go of Kyle’s hands. 

 Kyle lifts David’s chin, glaring at him in concern. “Try me,” he deadpans. 

 David sighs, “¿Sabes que mi primera idioma era español? Creció hablando español antes de inglés. Y ahora, mírame. Estoy afortunado si puedo hablar más de un par de palabras durante escuela.” 

“I hadn’t realized that,” Kyle admits softly. 

 “I know I’m a third-generation American and it shouldn’t matter but carajo, it does. The older I get, the less I can use Spanish and the less I remember.” David runs a hand through his pelo. “I feel it, every day. It’s like a part of me is slipping away and there’s nothing I can do about it. I’m an island that can no longer imagine the shore.” 

 Kyle leans back, elbows propping him up. He sputters, “shit, David.” 

David looks at him incredulously, laughing mirthless. It felt good to release some tension. “You’re telling me, carbón.” 

Kyle keeps his gaze fixated ahead, David wonders what he has cooking in that cabeza of his. “You’re not alone, y'know?” Kyle murmurs. 

 David tilts his head towards the other. “What do you mean?” 

 “I mean, you’re never alone, David.” Kyle peers up at him sheepishly. “You’ve got me, ok? I know I’m basically shit at Spanish but I’m getting there. And we can practice together! And, fuck” he rasps in exasperation. Kyle’s voice picks up speed and urgency, he sits up. 

 “I know it’s not the same. It’ll never be the same again. I get that you miss your family. But, dude, we’re your family now too. If you need to Spanish to remember what it’s like to be you, we’re here. Or I am,” Kyle scratches the back of his neck. “The guys will come around eventually.” 

 David pulls Kyle into an appreciative hug. Kyle clings to him like a shield saving him from his own thoughts. David inhales the scent of his friend; wool from the sweater-vests Kyle’s taken to wearing, the spicy Calvin Klein cologne his dad got him for Chanukah, and the matzo ball soup he clearly ate for dinner. Kyle se huele como familia, in his own way. The thought calms David considerably. Capaz el tenía razón. It wouldn’t be simple, and it would definitely get awkward from time to time. Pero, Kyle had never steered him wrong before.

 And maybe this is what being Latin@ American really meant: shattering the norms of two culturas and picking up the right shards to make your own mosaic. Because nothing was clear-cut and nothing was “normal” about being stuck in your own hometown. David had his friends, though, his familia.

Entonces David y Kyle empezaron platicar cada día en español. Y sí, a veces equivocaban sus palabras. Pero en general, sus conversaciones se crecen en fluidez. Cuando están en el octavo grado, sus amigos decidieron aprender español también. Primero es Kenny y Craig, seguido por Tweek y Token. Aparentemente, Jimmy ya sabia español. 

David learns later that Stan learned on his own until high school; and the first time he hears the brunet speak Spanish it’s when he’s confessing his feeling for David Y Kyle. By Junior year of high school, David feels like he has a tried and true familia in South Park. One where he can be himself, and crack a joke or gripe or be elated in either idioma, or a combination of the two. 

And then there’s Kyle. Fucking Kyle Broflovski who never shies away from pulling out his phone to look how to say something up. Kyle who will come to his padres’ restaurant, buy an horchata and pan dulce, and sit for hours doing his homework while listening to David and his parents talk solely in Spanish. Kyle who gains abuela’s approval in a heartbeat and is praised for having an “acento apropiado”. 

 Kyle, who on a fall afternoon their freshmen year of high school, interrupts an episode of Friends to whisper into David’s ear. 

 “¿Entonces, cuando vas a besarme?” He licks his lips nervously. 

 David, as if on autopilot, cups Kyle’s face slowly. Bringing their lips together, David can taste the salt & vinegar chips Kyle was eating earlier. As their tongues hesitantly work against each other, his mind drifts off at the scent of the Calvin Klein cologne Kyle loves so much. Thinking to himself that they may have never gotten here without Spanish.

 And for a while, his fear of failure recedes.


	7. G Para Gloriana

Cuando David era pequeño, one of his favorite things to do was go on errands con mamá. The beauty of las montañas y el cielo as they raced by was always enthralling. Mamá siempre tenía nueva música para David. Música from every corner of her life. Some that were de su infancia, but each had a story to tell nonetheless.

David was continuously astounded by his mother’s beautiful voice and her ability to remember the lyrics to any song. She drove a forest green Toyota Camry. Her name was Mariana and David said hello and gracias cada vez they rode in her. Mamá thought it was precious, but David was tan serio. Mariana had stains from memories like his futbol team’s first sleepover and Abuela sneaking him duvalin or otter pops on long car rides. She was creaky in some places, and her carpet seats olió of old tortillas. Nevertheless, Mariana was part of the family.

She was new when his padres bought it, but it served them for over a decade until un cabrón t-boned papá a month into living in South Park. Papá came out uninjured and el seguro pagó para un carro nuevo. Mila, they named the SUV they replaced Mariana with. She was a sturdy vehicle, and probably saved them a number of times during snow storms. But it wasn’t the same, she didn’t have the rich history that Mariana did.

 

Cuando David cumplió catorce años, se empezó ahorrar dinero para su propia coche. It took two and a half years, but David purchased his own car a few days after Kyle’s sixteenth birthday. He wasn’t sure he could ever find another car like Mariana, but he did. A used 90s forest green Camry with less than five thousand miles on it. He hadn’t believed the sales man about it being rarely used until he looked at the odometer. She was hermosa, and just like the car he grew up with. He named her Gloriana after his second favorite television show.

“You weren’t kidding,” Kyle mutters inspecting the vehicle. He opens the hood to take a look at the engine. “Fuck, how are cars like this even around still?”

David shrugs, leaning against the driver’s door. “Not everyone’s families go up to Denver every weekend.”

Kyle frowns, “if it were up to me, they wouldn’t. But Ike’s coach is the best in the state.”

“Your parents should get frequent driver miles or like a tax break for how much they drive,” Stan sticks his head out of the passenger’s seat. He’s practically buzzing with excitement, David was the only one of them to get a car.

“That would be nice,” Kyle frowns a little as he takes the hood down. He faces David with a face that reads ‘now let’s be serious’. “Where are we going?”

“Manitou Springs, tienen un montón de cosas para hacer,” David explains with a soft grin.

“No pun intended?” Kyle smirks.

“Pfft, por supuesto no,” David rolls his eyes indignantly.

“For the record, I came up with that one. So pun extremely intended,” Stan taps impatiently on the car door. “C'mon, there’s gonna be no parking left if we don’t hurry.”

Kyle gives David a shit-eating grin. David turns towards the car, trying to hide his blush as he opens the door for his side. Kyle stops him from closing the door once he’s inside. The pelirrojo bends over to steal a kiss from David.

“You’re cute when you’re trying to be cool,” he smiles softly.

“Yes, yes he is,” Stan adds kissing David’s cheek on the other side.

Kyle quickly slips into the back, electing to take the middle seat so he can see both of his boyfriends. “So how are we splitting gas money?”

“We’re not.” Stan mounts his phone to the air vent, starting the navigation. “David bought the car, you’re the birthday boy, and I’m covering gas,” he emphasizes pointedly.

Kyle rolls his eyes as David backs out of his driveway. “Fine, but I’m paying for lunch.”

“Deal,” Stan chuckles, leaning over the console to kiss the pelirrojo en la nariz.

And that’s how la historia de Gloriana begins. Of course, David still has to take her to school and on errands por sus padres. But when she isn’t being used for something mundane, she’s off seeing the world.

David likes driving her for the most part. Kyle usually insists on navigating, and Stan loves to keep them entertained from the backseat. But they switch it up on road trips. Stan navigates for Kyle and David does the same for Stan. The driver always gets to pick the music, and although they have overlapping tastes, they tend to stick to their own favorites on trips. Kyle plays hair bands, ballads, punk, and classic rock. Everything’s high intensity and dramatic. Like his music, Kyle always keeps David on his toes with his passion and heart.

Stan goes in between indie pop, indie folk and alt rock. It’s a calming contrast to five hours of Kyle’s music, but David wonders how he can always offer to take late shifts for driving and stay awake. No importa, he thinks, he trusts both of them with his life. Besides, Stan always gets energetic around night time.

David loves putting on rap and reggaeton most often. But honestly? Sometimes he just puts on musicals, depending on what he wants to feel. Rent and The Great Comet of 1812 make him cry; Spring Awakening and Hamilton get him fired up. They all remind him to keep dreaming. David feels the stories, and if Stan’s awake, he joins in singing. Stan sings along to everything, but his voice is so perfect. It’s one of the things David loves about him.

They see the majority of the west coast over the next few years. They take random trips up to Cheyenne or down to Pueblo and Santa Fe. They stay away from Arizona, Kyle usually drives when they have to pass through. David sits in the back grumbling about racist assholes racially profiling until they’re over state lines. They see California from top to bottom. Stan rambles on about expanding the restaurant to a chain and moving out here as they drive along the coast when they’re 18. David interested in films nowadays. He thinks it’s worth a shot to try.

They visit his familia in Boise a few times and meet some distant relatives in Houston once. They go to Las Vegas for Kyle’s 21st. They pick truffles outside of Portland in the light morning rain, and Kyle fights back a laugh when he slips on some mud. Kyle later finds them an open kitchen that changes their menu daily. The redhead talks about the future, and plans after college. And how he could really see them living here. Stan agrees, saying California isn’t too far off and the housing is cheaper in Portland. David grins adoringly, plans mean a future together and he honestly can’t see this, them, ending any time soon.

Gloriana takes them to Montana, and Mt. Rushmore, and back home. She takes them to and from school every few weeks: Stan up to CSU while Kyle and David circle back to Boulder. Between Kyle and Papá, Gloriana continues to be a well-tuned machine. They go as far north as Chicago, St. Louis, and New Orleans. They plan on hitting the Deep South and the East Coast eventually.

Gloriana takes them to Seattle for the first time when they’re 23 and 24. They’re huddling together on the observation deck of the Space Needle after dinner. Stan’s in the middle with his arms around both of their waists. Kyle and David do the same for him. The way their arms brushing up against each other is reassuring, for David at least. They’re basking in each other’s presence, enjoying the skyline and the crisp October air. They made the trek for Stan’s cumpleaños. David thinks that this is what life is supposed to be like, a series of breathtaking moments that jump out for a breath glimmer of time.

Stan breaks their silence after ten minutes. “Let’s get married, the three of us.”

Kyle blanches, looking down at Stan incredulously. “Did you seriously just propose to us on top of the Space Needle like a fucking rom com?”

Stan laughs, no he fucking giggles. “I think I just did.”

“I don’t think that’s even legal,” Kyle nuzzles the top of his head.

“We’ll figure it out,” David thinks out loud.

Kyle and Stan stare back at him like he’s absolutely everything. He hopes that’s what they see when he looks at them too. Later when the walk back to the car, Kyle calling dibs on driving, David thinks he was smart to have found Gloriana. Mariana contained the best of his childhood memories. Gloriana had done the same for high school, college, and their early adulthood. But capaz, it won’t matter what car he gets next. Because any car would already hold the best parts of his life inside, su rey y su amor.


	8. H for Home

Desde una edad temprana, David supo que nada es importada más que la familia. Familia was the center of David’s universe. Su abuelos took care of him when he was little. Sus primos were his support system cuando estuvo creciendo. Y sus padres eran su todo mundo.

 It was hard to explain to some of his friends, but there was something extraordinary about loving his family like he did. He was mature for his age. He understood that many things were destined to change. Capaz his familia también, but as long as he could hold onto to their love, he knew he’d be fine.

 Above all, he understood that familia was home. And home would always be waiting for him. Familia wasn’t just a long list of names and relatives that he mostly knew. They were the people who he met at parties, taught him the most obscure life lessons, and supported him in all of his endeavors. 

 Al mismo tiempo, home was also lots and lots of crap. Home was the inexplicable ability to transplant everything from one house to another as if they were the same place. To be precise, it was the montón of things sus padres hauled across the Rockies to get to South Park.

Like the worn down bookshelves that needed to be filled with cookbooks, murder mysteries, and biografías. Or the shrine dedicated to La Virgen de Guadalupe that adorns the living room of cada casa; with its numerous half uses candles from relatives and vacations where his mother would always buy a blessed vela. Home was in the replicas of works from Jose Clemente Orozco, José Luis Cuevas y María Izquierdo that he could stare at for hours. Pondering life, the world and everything when he was too bored to flip on the televisión. 

 Home was his father’s pottery wheel, always relegated to the garage. Where he would spend late nights crafting masterpieces to sell at farmer’s markets, art festivals and (much later) online. It was also the numerous prayer cards and miniature angel statues that lined the windowsills of la recámara de sus padres. As well as the knitted blankets that his bisabuela en México would envía cada año para Navidad. His favorite, an azure and teal quilted pattern, adorned his bed for many years. 

 Home was the bells that friends would ship mamá from around the world. Each came with a postcard that she would meticulous pin to a large cork board en la cocina. 

 "It’s a vision board,“ she told David once in middle school. "One day, cuando tenemos el dinero y estoy retirado, I’d like to see all of these places myself.”

 Every time afterwards that David saw those cards, he felt a great need to do something more for his familia. Which is how David spent high school working tirelessly to get into college, and pay for it himself. It was his job to make his parents worry less about his future. Between school, working as a waiter for his parents, and side gigs he did to save up money; pressure got to him from time to time. Fortunately, David had a supporting family and loving novios to keep him motivated. And there was also the vision board, and the mental image David had of mamá exploring Indonesia, Cuba or anywhere in between.

Ultimately, David’s hard work earned him a Boettcher Scholarship. In other words, he could go to any in state school for free. Which means the money he had saved up over the last few years and other scholarships he’d applied for could be put to use somewhere else, or just saved for a rainy day. The day of his graduation, David’s padres gifted him a college fund. 

 "We’ve been saving for years,“ mamá explains to him. "Everything we could spare. We’re so proud of you.” David embraces his tightly, susurrando gracias y palabras de agradecimiento. “You should keep it,” he insists. “We don’t have to worry about tuition and I’m still going to work." 

 They didn’t accept his refusal right away. In fact, it wasn’t until David had graduated college, and had a stable job, that they reluctantly looked at the fund once again. David touched the account a total of three times, all emergencias and where replenished with interest promptly. At the age of 23, David spent his first Thanksgiving with just Stan and Kyle. Mientras tanto, he received a package from Australia. A bell, a postcard, three t-shirts, some sweets, a pair of sandals, and a pictures of sus padres at the Sidney Opera House. La sonrisa de Mamá was brighter than a thousand suns. As he puts the picture on the mantle of their apartment in Denver, stopping to kiss Kyle who’s stringing popcorn and Stan who’s delicately unpacking ornaments, David thinks home means many things. But above all, home means a lugar to keep love alive.


	9. I for Isolation

David thought he lived in the middle of no where. That is, until he moved to South Park, Colorado. A place where ten minutes felt far away but two hours to the closest major city was manageable. In elementary school, the isolation wasn’t inconsequential. The neighborhood kids were enough of a handful to keep his days occupied. 

Middle school brought on a unique set of problems. David was old enough to bike to places like the mall or Stark’s pond by himself. But that’s when the usual activities began to loose their luster. Sports held some appeal, although Kyle was more inclined to basketball and Stan had pretty much thrown in the towel on football. For his part, David enjoyed watching hockey and clumsily ice skating when no one was around the pond. David grew closer to people like Token, Jimmy, and Butters who had stimulating conversations to offer. But overall, the challenge of not having a license was in the limits of their imaginations. 

 David realized in eighth grade that most of the drugs kids sold each other were a byproduct of the isolation South Park often experienced. There was little to do, and few left. What was the point of being an upstanding citizen if there were no consequences to your actions? It bothered him sometimes, this idea that he would be stuck here forever. 

 The vistas and climate weren’t much different from Boise, but he had never intended to live his entire life in Idaho either. He wanted to see the world, be someone, whatever that meant. Someday, all the pieces would fall in place for David. But for now, he’s fourteen and stuck in the middle of nowhere in the middle of mountain land. 

 It’s the summer before high school and he’s bored beyond belief. Half of his time is spent working for his parents, and the hours seem to bleed into each other. He hasn’t seen much of Kyle since his family went to Cancun for a few weeks. David had tried not laugh mirthlessly. He had yet to meet most of his familia on his father’s side, but the Broflovskis could treat his homeland like a commodity to exploit. He tried not to let his bitterness show. David knows Kyle wouldn’t think like that…on purpose.

On a typical Thursday afternoon, David is reading his summer English book by Stark’s Pond. He skips a few rocks whenever the literature pisses him off too much. He takes a deep breath, picks the calmest playlist he has on his phone, and tries to concentrate on the pure mierda he was assigned. The late afternoon sun beamed mercilessly as the wind gushed through the valley. David lost track of the time, almost dozing off when he felt a tapping on his shoulder. 

He glances up, Stan Marsh is awkwardly waving at him. Overtime their relationship has evolved from one of animosity to tentative friendship to…David wasn’t sure how to describe them now. The last year had been this stasis where neither he nor Stan understood how they felt about each other. He was sure they were both hopelessly in love with Kyle, but that didn’t seem to affect whatever was going on between them.

 "Hey,“ Stan’s voice cracks as he timidly greets him. "Can I sit?”

 "Sure,“ David scoots over so the older boy can share his towel.

 "How’s the book going?” Stan gestures to David’s copy of _The Tortilla Curtain_.

 David frowns, “have you read it?" 

 Stan nods, a silence falls on them. Just when David is about to ignore him to continue reading, he concludes, "it’s fucking messed up." 

 David snorts, "that’s putting it lightly." 

 "Fuck, dude, does that shit really happen?" 

 "Of course, tonto,” David snarks. “People risk their lives all the time. Hopping immigration will give them a better life when honestly, sometimes it really doesn’t." 

 "Then what’s the point?” Stan looks over, his eyes are so fucking innocent and David doesn’t know whether to smack him or kiss him. Kiss him? David thinks again, que extraño.

“The point is survival,” David explains patiently. “A veces, you don’t have a choice. It’s either adapt or die." 

 Stan mulls the comment over. "So the author’s arguing that adaptation is a necessary evil?" 

 "I honestly don’t give a flying fuck what the author is arguing,” he comments, enojado. “He’s making money out of exploiting the real pain of my people. Pain that he’ll probably never face. He can say whatever the he wants, but fuck him. Fuck him to hell." 

 Stan grimaces, remaining silent as David continues venting.

 "¿Sabes con qué frecuencia puedo ver o leer algo qué representa mi gente con bien justicia en este país?” David huffs, huddling himself behind his knees. “Cuando no necesito preocuparme con imágenes de violencia y carnicería. Y cuando ni se importa que opina la población Americano sobre las gentes Mexicanas. Mierda como esto es que lo nos mantiene oprimidos." 

 "Fuck.” Stan curses to himself, “how often do you have to deal with shit like this?" 

 "Too often,” David says curtly. 

“So what do you?” he asks, voice wavering slightly. Like he’s scared to know what David has to deal with on a daily basis. The wind dies down with his voice. 

 "You learn how to adapt,“ David says simply. "People can help you as much as they can take everything away. You learn that everyone has a way to be disarmed or placated. Some people can be reasoned with, taught, and others can only be ignored. The dangerous people are the one’s you have to either keep your distance or make friends with." 

 "Then what am I?” Stan isn’t challenging him, he’s curious. 

 David stares up at sun, gradually being hidden by a low flying cloud. It blurs his vision slightly, but allows him a warm release. “I had to teach you…a lot,” David admits. 

“And now?” the older boy turns to face him expectantly.

 David smiles easily, “Y ahora, creo que ya sabes suficiente para ser mi amigo, mi confidente." 

 Stan grins back at him, ghosting su mano over David’s. He squeezes it reassuringly. "I’m glad." 

They fall into a quiet moment, inches from each other, unsure how to proceed. Somehow, Stan ends up laying on David’s stomach while the Chicano resumes reading. 

 "Sometimes,” David startled Stan awake with his musings. “I think you get it more than Kyle. The ‘being a minority’ thing." 

 "What doesn’t he get?” Stan turns over to face him.

“It’s the little things,” he plays with Stan’s shaggy hair. “Mostly how whatever I have to say ends up as the official 'Latino opinion’.”

 "And that’s…bad,“ Stan hums in contemplation. 

 David sighs, setting the book down on the dirt trail. Not that he cares what happens to it. "It is when that’s how all of my opinions are framed. I’m not…ugh. It’s like my value is tied to how much I can teach him. And there’s only so much I can tell him, you know?”

“That’s dumb,” he informs David bluntly. “Dude, Kyle’s fucking in love with you. He wants to be a part of your life, and he’s probably frustrated that he’ll never totally get there…” Stan trails off before adding, “and he probably asks so many questions because he thinks you’re a fucking genius." 

 David mumbles under his breath, blushing. "I hadn’t thought of it like that." 

"I know,” Stan smirks knowingly. “Take it from the king of miscommunication, David. Just talk to him. If it bothers you, he’ll listen." 

"When did you get so good at giving advice güey?" 

Stan shrugs turning away from David to face the pond. "Maybe I get it. Not the being Mexican thing, but feeling like you’re the only person who gets what you’re dealing with." 

 David rolls his eyes playfully, secretly appreciating the way Stan gets him sometimes. As he lays back down, submitting himself to further reading, David wonders if isolation is more of a state of mind and if empathy is cure.


	10. J for Jealousy

Jealously es un pecado tan despreciable, abuela used to tell him. 

“Dios proveerá lo que necesita,” she would explain when David tried to throw tantrum when he was six inside a mercado. “Anything else we must earn with hard work or given by the kindness of others" 

 "But lo quiero,” young David whined as he pointed to the peluche de un lobo on the top shelf. 

 "Have you earned that lobo con trabajo propio?“ She crossed her arms and leveled him with a disappointed glare. 

 ”…No…“ he said softly. 

 "Mira, mijito,” Abuela kneeled down to speak to him. “Wanting things and getting them are hardly one and the same. Necesitas valentía, paciencia, y la fortaleza. And you must trust that what you do receive is what you need." 

"I just wanted a peluche,” David grumbled bitterly.

 "Yo se,“ she patted his head indulgently. "Pero una día, vas a querer algo más importante y más difícil que un juguete." 

 Growing up, he headed his Abuela’s words as best as possible. It really sucked to be the better person. To work so hard not to compare himself to others, especially when he moved to South Park. Where the children were more brash and their parents cared far less if they were successful as children. Jealousy is temptation, Abuela would lecture. The only thing it gets you is alone and miserable. So David trudged along, careful to only consider the needs of others, not their gains. 

 And one day, he grew up to realize what true jealousy was. It was this feeling that creeped up his spine whenever Stan got a little too close to Kyle. Whenever the "super best friends” susurraron to each other. Or when Kyle got a dopey look on his face as he recounted a story about him and Stan. Jealousy was the gut punch he felt when Stan did something so charming that even David couldn’t help but swoon as well. 

Jealousy was the grief David felt when Stan broke up with Wendy in seventh grade…and stayed broken up. Jealousy was how nervous David felt when he thought about Stan and Kyle getting together, finally. It was the sadness on Stan’s face when he found out David and Kyle had gotten together first. 

 And that bothered David to high hell. Because that wasn’t how the story was supposed to go. Or maybe it was, fuck if he knew. Maybe Stan was supposed to be with Wendy and Kyle was supposed to find someone kind yet outspoken like him in college; and maybe David was supposed to move away from South Park and leave it as a relic of his childhood. But over time, this town had inexplicably enraptured him. And now he was dating his childhood crush and something was so very wrong about that. 

 Jealousy wasn’t about being petty and entitled, David realized, it was about having your expectations crushed. And the more he though about it, the first month he dated Kyle, the more he realized he hadn’t been jealous of Stan in a very long time. 

 "He’s in love with you,“ David told Kyle one afternoon as they studied in Kyle’s room. 

"I know,” Kyle answered without prompting. 

“So why?” David heard himself say. 

“Why what?” Kyle’s tapping his geometry textbook with his pencil. 

“Why me?" 

Kyle halts his musings, staring at David incredulously. "Does it matter?" 

David groans, "siento culpable. I know that sounds dumb." 

 "Maybe,” Kyle admits, he pulls David onto his, slinging his arm around the smaller. “It wasn’t about choosing, David. It was…fuck, with you I know what we could be. Stan’s unpredictable and I do love him but-" 

"I’m safe?” David finished for him, dispassionately. 

 "It’s not that simple,“ Kyle protests side-hugging David tightly. "You’re not jealous of him are you? Because you’ve known me almost as long as him at this point." 

 "That’s not even close to true,” David pokes his shoulder, mildly disgruntled. “And no, I’m not jealous of Stan." 

 "But…” Kyle prompts knowingly. 

 "I haven’t known what I feel about Stan since middle school,“ David averts his eyes. 

 "What’s that supposed to mean?” Kyle sounds more perplexed than affronted.

 "Remember spin the bottle?“ David answers, lying back on Kyle’s bed. 

 "Oh,” he hears su novio mutter.

“Yup,” David exhales loudly. 

Kyle joins him on the bed, spooning him from behind. They don’t say anything for a very long time. David starts to wonder as the sun starts setting if Kyle’s fallen asleep. 

 However, the pelirrojo breaks the silence by asking, “if you could be with anyone, who would it be?" 

 "You,” David responds immediately. “Both of you. We’d go to college together, find some new city to live in, and just be us. Pero juntos, siempre estemos juntos." 

 Kyle hums in agreement. "Yea, I’d like that." 

 They stay cuddled together long late into the evening. Kyle’s parents are in Vail for the weekend, and Ike’s at a friend’s house. 

 Kyle pipes up once more. "I was jealous too, you know." 

 David’s eyes snap open, having dozed off slightly. He turns around to look worriedly at Kyle. "Jealous of what?" 

 "You and Stan,” he admits, his cheeks becoming as vibrant as his hair. “I’ve known him forever, and he’ll always be there. But fuck, sometimes you swoop in to help and he looks at you like…like I’ve always wanted him to at me." 

 "He looks at you like that all the time, tonto,” David chuckles kissing the younger’s nariz. “That’s why you miss it, because he’s scarred." 

 "Well I’m scarred too,” Kyle challenges. “What is this? We’re in love with each other, and another guy?" 

 "I think that’s called life, mi rey,” David wraps his arms around Kyle’s neck making them virtually inseparable. 

 "¿Que vamos hacer?“ Kyle inquires seriously. 

David bites his lip, contemplating the ‘right answer’. "Either we take a chance and tell Stan, or always wonder 'what if?’ yo supongo." 

 "So risk loosing Stan completely or be jealous of reality that might have been?” Kyle surmises. 

 "Pretty much,“ David concedes. 

 Kyle kisses up David’s neck, scarcely missing an inch. 

 "Hey,” David murmurs. “Creo que somos un equipo tan poderoso." 

 Kyle smiles at him humorously, but the expression melts into something like adoration. And for a while, the realization that the were just two idiots in love, mutually pinning over the same guy, was enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is what I have for now. Up next is Kyle.


End file.
